I am afraid, Anna, just a little afraid, that in Paris I and my friends here might seem a trifle advanced. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. She did not know herself. Selfishness. They would be partners only in loneliness. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. I don’t think of you as a kid. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped.
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